


and in the morning, you'll be there

by mynameis_not_cathofaragon



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bad Weather, First Kiss, Getting Together, Grantaire being Grantaire, M/M, Pining, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In, Storms, Valentine's Day, Valentine's Day Fluff, as in literally all of my fics, enjolras doesn't like storms, going from enemies to friends and then to lovers, i believe that tag applies, i think, not rated bc idk if a few swears and one sentence of implied sexual content require t or just gen, ok i'll stop now, that's the beauty of enemies to lovers, they are actually friends in this one, weather inaccuracies most likely, well more like Stormed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:08:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29416896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mynameis_not_cathofaragon/pseuds/mynameis_not_cathofaragon
Summary: "“You’ll stay the night, then,” Enjolras declares, final and simple, completely ignoring the panic those few words cause Grantaire. And then he fucking smirks, and adds, “You can be my valentine.”He's managed to keep his feelings under control for a long time now, but somehow he thinks this will be a breaking point. This can only end in disaster. Being in close quarters with Enjolras for the whole night, unable to leave the apartment, or even go out to the balcony, is something out of both his wildest dreams and his worst nightmares."...or; Enjolras and Grantaire get stuck together because of a storm, on the eve of Valentine's Day.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 74





	and in the morning, you'll be there

**Author's Note:**

> hii about the weather thing, according to my understanding as a non french person, february is actually one of the drier months in paris, so a storm would be very unlikely. that being said, this is fanfic after all, so excuse the lack of weather accuracy  
> also, this was originally an idea for a new year's eve fic, but i couldn't write it in time lol, so valentine's day it is. anyway, hope you like it!

Naturally, it is Courfeyrac’s fault. Well, that may be unfair, since Courf doesn’t actually control the weather, but he still plays a part; to an extent, at least. 

It's Valentine’s Day, and while the holiday is certainly a capitalist affair that goes against what Les Amis de l’ABC stand for, any excuse for a party is good for their friend group, and specially for Courfeyrac. So, taking advantage of the fact that Valentine’s Day would be on a Sunday, he organised a Valentine’s Day’s Eve Party, which he had plans to continue on the actual Valentine’s Day, and no one was allowed to miss –not that anyone would, honestly, since they haven’t had the chance to get together a lot lately, and their co-dependency was beginning to complain. Of course, that on itself is no problem at all, but then he went and offered Grantaire to pick Enjolras up, arguing that their apartments were closer than anyone else’s. Again, that alone is fine, Grantaire is glad to do it. The problem comes later. 

He gets to Enjolras’ flat some minutes before he’d told him he’d be there, having decided it was better to hurry after seeing how windy it had got. One of Enjolras’ neighbours is coming in at the same time as him, a nice older lady he’s seen a couple of times before that recognises him and lets him in, and luckily she does, because when he goes to knock on Enjolras’ door, his voice comes muffled by the sound of the shower. 

“Who is it?” 

“Grantaire,” he replies, wincing slightly at his raised voiced, hoping the neighbours won’t mind. 

“Come in!” 

Feeling only a bit uncomfortable at going into Enjolras’ flat while he’s in the shower, Grantaire comes in. The place is the same as always, books and notebooks everywhere, some half-written pages scattered on the coffee table, at least three empty mugs around. He's been here enough times now that he confidently makes his way to the kitchen, taking the mugs on his way. 

He has to snort quietly as he places them in the sink. Not even six months ago, Grantaire wouldn’t have been able to dream of having the friendship he has now with Enjolras, the familiarity that allows him to take his dirty mugs to the kitchen as if they were his own. Don't get it wrong, he loves it, seriously, even if it makes his feelings for him harder to bear at times, now that he doesn’t simply admire Enjolras from afar but is actually his friend -not the friend of his friends that he puts up with, but his genuine _friend-_ but it is also kinda confusing, how they went from jumping at each other’s throats at the smallest chance, to this. 

Of course, they still have their moments, and rarely do they see eye to eye completely, but at least they are civil during their debates now, and actually talk to each other outside of those, too. And if Grantaire’s chest flutters a little every time he says something that makes Enjolras smile, well, no one has to know, there’s no use in ruining what they’ve painstakingly been building these past months. 

Not long after, the shower stops, its noise soon replaced by that of Enjolras getting dressed, and nope, Grantaire is not going to think about that. Instead, he sits on a barstool, checking one of the blank sheets of paper there, and one he deems it safe, starts sketching the plant in the corner with one of the many pens thrown around the apartment. It's a bit of a nervous habit of his, doodling, he can never keep his hands quiet for long; Enjolras has assured him he doesn’t mind him doing it with the spare papers he sometimes has around, and he actually likes the drawings, so Grantaire, lovesick fool that he is, does it as often as he can. 

Some minutes later, he hears footsteps, and then Enjolras is standing in front of him, clad in dark skinny jeans and a red sweater, his hair still wet, and really, a twenty-six-year-old has no business looking so cute. 

“Hey,” he smiles,” you’re early.” 

Grantaire nods. “Yeah, it got kinda windy, thought maybe we could go a bit earlier, in case it gets worse.” 

Enjolras frowns, seemingly just now noticing the wind howling outside; since Grantaire got here, the wind did get slightly stronger. “Huh.” He goes to the door of the small balcony, looking out, and his frown deepens. Turning to Grantaire, he says, “Let me dry my hair quickly, and we can get going.” 

He smirks. “Gotta take care of your lovely hair, Apollo?” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes, scowling, but there’s a hint of a smile in the upturning of one of the corners of his lips. “Keep drawing, R.” 

Grantaire can’t help the smile that settles on his lips at the nickname; before, Enjolras had never called him that, perhaps only sarcastically once or twice, but lately he’s taken to doing it. The nickname itself is admittedly kind of stupid, and something everyone has always called him, it holds little meaning, but the fact that it is Enjolras calling him that never fails to surprise him, and even make him slightly giddy; perhaps his mind has made it into a symbol of sorts, of the cease of their former animosity. 

Either way, he does as he’s told, finishing the sketch of the plant, the noise of the hairdryer coming from the bathroom and the wind outside in the background. The wind has been getting increasingly stronger, and he can’t but feel like there’s a storm coming; hopefully they’ll get to Courf and Ferre’s apartment before it breaks. 

After a short time, Enjolras comes back to the living room, this time with his curls dry and bouncy, and immediately goes to see what’s going on outside, his lips pressing into a tense line. Grantaire doesn’t think twice and joins him there, a frown of his own settling on his brow as he sees the tree tops swaying from side to side. 

“Maybe we should wait, see if it passes,” he murmurs, still looking out. 

He feels Enjolras move beside him, probably nodding. “It might be for the best.” They both turn to face each other. “Want some coffee?” 

Grantaire laughs. “You don’t even like coffee.” It’s true; he does drink it, and quite an impressive amount, but simply as a means to an end –staying awake and working-, since he hates the taste. 

Enjolras rolls his eyes. “I’ll make myself tea.” 

“’kay then, sure.” 

With that, they head to the kitchen to get their drinks. Enjolras’ tea collection is rivalled only by Jehan’s, and constantly growing, whether he buys them himself or their friends gift them to him, Grantaire included. 

Once there, Enjolras fixes his eyes on the mugs in the sink, before turning to Grantaire, his eyebrows raised. “Did you pick these up from the living room?” When Grantaire shrugs, he smiles almost softly, “Thanks, R, you didn’t have to.” 

He shrugs again, casting his glance down for a second. “It was just some mugs.” 

Enjolras looks as if he wants to argue, which he probably does, when doesn’t he want to argue? But he says nothing. 

Tea and coffee ready, they sit at the breakfast bar, drinking in silence. Grantaire’s never been the greatest fan of silences, usually feeling compelled to fill them up with some speech or rant, but lately he’s found that with Enjolras, silences can be just as pleasant as their talks. They do give him an excuse to look at him, yes, but it’s more than that, there’s a weird comfort in enjoying Enjolras’ company -and knowing he enjoys Grantaire’s as well- without having to be engaged in a heated debate to get his attention. It's probably pathetic. 

Outside, the wind keeps howling, and some rain has most likely begun falling as well; a weird weather for this time of the year, and greatly inconvenient too. Grantaire’s growing worried it will get even worse, but he’s not sure going out right now is a very wise choice; he doesn’t even want to think of what they’ll do if a storm breaks while they are in the car. 

“Should we get going?” Enjolras asks with no little hesitance, his eyes drifting to the balcony door. 

Grantaire opens his mouth to reply, what, he’s not sure, but is interrupted by a loud thunderstrike. Next to him, Enjolras jumps slightly, taken by surprise, and Grantaire can’t -nor does he want to- help the laugh that escapes him, earning himself a scowl. He sobers up quickly though, as another, milder, thunder strikes, followed by lightning. 

He sighs. “I doubt that’d be wise right now, Apollo.” 

Enjolras groans, then winces a bit at yet more thunder. “God, I hate thunderstorms.” 

At this, Grantaire frowns. “I thought you loved storms.” 

“Yes, storms,” he says, almost scoffing,” as in, water and wind, not thunder.” Then he adds quickly,” Do not even _think_ of laughing.” 

He lifts his hands in surrender, though his lips stretch in a smile involuntarily. “Wasn’t going to.” 

Enjolras stares at him, eyes narrowed, for several seconds, before letting them fall again. For the next few minutes, they say nothing, alternatively looking either outside or down to their half-finished mugs. Grantaire kind of disconnects, the loud sounds of the storm weirdly soothing. He's only awakened from this state by his phone ringing –Courfeyrac, says the screen. 

“Courf?” He says as he picks up, Enjolras looking at him now. 

“Hey, R.” Thankfully, his friend doesn’t sound distressed. “Are you with Enjolras?” 

“Yeah, want me to put you on speaker?” 

“Yes, please.” 

Grantaire nods before remembering Courf can’t see him, and puts him on speaker. 

“Courfeyrac?” Enjolras asks, frowning in concern. “Is everything alright? Are you with Combeferre?” 

“Hi, Enj. Yes, I’m with Ferre, we’re at home, we’re ok. But the storm is growing stronger, and apparently it’ll get worse later, so we’re gonna have to cancel the party tonight,” he says, sighing dramatically at the end. “We’re still on for tomorrow, though, the forecast says it’ll be fine.” 

Grantaire laughs at Courf’s almost menacing tone, and Enjolras smiles. 

“Ferre says hi, by the way,” he adds, cheerier. “We’ll see you tomorrow, everyone else already knows too.” A pause, and then,” Take care tonight, guys.” 

As if on cue, a particularly loud thunder strikes, making Enjolras flinch. Looking at him, Grantaire says, “We will, Courf, you too.” 

“Say hello to Combeferre,” chimes in Enjolras. 

“Will do. Bye, guys.” 

“Bye, man.” 

“Goodbye, Courf.” 

“Well,” Grantaire says when he hangs up,” guess there goes our plans for the night.” He hesitates for a moment. “I should get going, in that case, before it gets any worse.” Enjolras looks at him with his ‘are you fucking serious right now’ expression. “What?” 

“You can’t go outside, R!” To further prove his point, he waves a hand towards the balcony. 

“What should I do, then, Apollo? Will you bring back the Sun?” 

He ignores the bait. “Is your car parked next to a tree?” 

Grantaire raises an eyebrow. “No?” 

“You’ll stay the night, then,” Enjolras declares, final and simple, completely ignoring the panic those few words cause Grantaire. And then he fucking _smirks_ , and adds, “You can be my valentine.” 

He's managed to keep his feelings under control for a long time now, but somehow he thinks this will be a breaking point. This can only end in disaster. Being in close quarters with Enjolras for the whole night, unable to leave the apartment, or even go out to the balcony, is something out of both his wildest dreams and his worst nightmares. 

Ignorant of Grantaire’s inner turmoil, Enjolras gets up, picking both their now empty mugs. “Really, Grantaire, did you think I’d make you leave?” 

“No, of course no,” he splutters,” I just- I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

Enjolras rolls his eyes, and doesn’t deign him with a response. “Come, we can make dinner,” he says instead. 

Still stunned by this turn of events, Grantaire follows him. 

The cook in companiable silence for a while, but even their silences have an end, and soon they are discussing the virtues of parsley versus cilantro. Cooking with someone is often depicted as this romantic affair in media, but with Enjolras it is more of a “I have a knife, don’t test me” kind of thing; he wouldn’t change it for anything. It's not a synchronised dance either, they actually bump lightly into each other several times –though the small space of the kitchen may be to blame for that, too- but it’s fun nevertheless. Meanwhile, the storm outside hasn’t stopped. 

They eat in the couch, a crappy horror movie on. It started sometime around the second month of their newly friendly relationship, watching bad movies and making fun of them, a night no one else could hang out. Technically, it’s something all of the Amis do now and again, but it’s also become sort of their thing. They barely even listen to the films, as their commentary rarely stops, whether it is about the dialogue, the acting, the sets, or even talking about something else entirely, usually having made a connection with a previous comment actually relating to the movie; it is incredibly entertaining, specially watching Enjolras get worked up over continuity errors. 

“I can’t believe you just made me watch about a priest that turns into a dinosaur,” he says when the movie ends. 

Grantaire snorts. “Excuse you, it was a velociraptor, not any dinosaur.” He can see Enjolras fighting back a smile, so he adds, grinning, “Admit it, you liked it.” 

Enjolras leans a bit closer, narrowing his eyes. “Never,” he declares after a moment of silent staring. 

When the film started, they were sitting next to each other in the couch with a respectful, _friendly_ , distance between them, but by the end of it they’ve moved closer, and now, with Enjolras still looking at him with barely concealed mirth, Grantaire realises just how close they are. Hell, he can see every freckle on Enjolras’ face, the different hues of blue in his eyes, the errant strands of hair of the curl that falls over his forehead. It'd be so easy, leaning in- 

He pulls back quickly, nearly giving himself whiplash, before he can do something he’ll regret. 

Enjolras’ eyes widen a fraction at his reaction, leaning back slightly as well, clearly confused; there’s also something else on his face, almost like hurt. Fuck, how is he supposed to explain that? He gapes, no words coming out. Outside, particularly loud thunder –as they’ve been raging pretty much non-stop- strikes, and Enjolras flinches. Taking his chance, Grantaire grabs both their plates, scurrying to the kitchen with a mumbled, “I’ll take this, you stay here.” 

Naturally, Enjolras does not stay, instead following him some moments later. Fortunately, he says nothing about what just happened -not that anything happened. He dries the dishes that Grantaire washes, a silence not comfortable nor awkward around them. 

Grantaire is seriously worried he fucked something up. So far, he’s been able to keep his heart under wraps, after all, having Enjolras only as a friend is far better than not having him at all, as well as something he’d never even believed possible before. He accepted a long time ago he wouldn’t get over Enjolras, at least not in the foreseeable future, it’s as much a part of him as his cynicism by this point, his love for the fearless leader, and he’s made his peace with this fact; if he ruined their friendship because of a moment of weakness, he’s not sure he’d ever forgive himself. 

For now, though, Enjolras seems to be as always, if a bit more awkward than his usual self. They go back to the living room, both wordlessly grabbing books from either the shelf on one of the walls or from the several stacks on various surfaces. It's not a familiar routine yet, they’ve only done it a handful of times before, reading together, but they silently agree it seems fitting right now. 

They spend the better part of two hours like so, leaning onto opposite ends of the couch, their legs almost tangled together, the sound of the pages being turned and the storm outside filling the apartment, the pseudo-silence only broken by some comments either of them mumble from time to time, or Enjolras writing something on the margins of the pages. (They’ve argued about the merits of writing on books, Grantaire casually forgetting to mention he does, too, sometimes, which nothing has to do with how much he enjoys Enjolras’ face when he’s defending something that doesn’t necessarily have to do with politics.) 

It's getting late, though, and while they’d probably be more awake if they were at the party that couldn’t be, the reading has been lulling them into sleep. Enjolras has yawned five times in the last hour, and Grantaire himself feels his eyelids growing heavy. He hesitates before starting the next chapter, unsure of what to do, but then Enjolras closes his book. 

“I think I’ll go to bed,” he says, his statement punctuated by another yawn. 

Grantaire puts his own book down. “Yeah, me too.” 

Enjolras nods, hesitating a second before getting up, and Grantaire immediately misses his warmth close to him. He starts walking to his room, but turns around after a few steps to look at Grantaire expectantly. 

“What?” 

He raises his eyebrows. “Well, are you coming?” His confusion must show, because Enjolras adds, “You said you were going to sleep as well, so, are you coming?” 

“Why-” Grantaire stops himself, understanding what Enjolras means, and his heart stops, or maybe it starts beating faster, he’s not sure. 

There’s that ‘are you fucking serious right now’ face again. “You’re not sleeping on the couch, R.” 

“Well, neither are you, Apollo, this is your apartment,” he rebuts. 

“Exactly, it is, which is why you’re sleeping in my bed, and I’m taking the couch. I’m not that bad of a host, you know.” 

It's a bad idea, and exactly the reason why he needs to think things through before he says them, but Grantaire is not making Enjolras sleep on the couch. “Fine, we’ll share then.” 

Surprise takes over Enjolras’ face, followed by uncertainty. When he doesn’t say anything, Grantaire is, once again, afraid he’s done something he should not have, but before his thoughts can spiral any more, Enjolras nods slowly. 

“Alright.” And then he’s going into his room, leaving Grantaire not choice but to follow him. 

Enjolras’ bedroom is surprisingly messy, for him at least. There's books and papers scattered here, too, as well as a jacket –denim, embroidered with red, made by Feuilly- thrown over a chair, almost falling, and he can see at least three pairs of shoes and a throw pillow on the floor; there’s also a small potted plant –probably a gift from Jehan- that looks close to its death. The bed is big, though, they shouldn’t have much trouble sleeping together- oh, that’s dangerous wording. 

Enjolras picks the discarded pillow, muttering some apology for the mess, and then goes to get some sweatpants and a t-shirt that he promptly hands Grantaire. 

“They may be a bit tight,” he warns, not quite meeting his eyes. Grantaire can only nod dumbly. 

They get ready for bed quickly and without many words, and way too soon they find themselves standing next to the bed. There're a few seconds of awkward staring, and honestly Grantaire feels ridiculous, it’s only sharing a bed for a night, for fuck’s sake, they are grown-ups, not teenagers! But then again, it is Enjolras he has to share a bed with, fearless leader in red, idealist extraordinaire, the man he’s been in love with for years, Enjolras. 

Mentally berating himself for his idiocy, he takes a deep breath, and proceeds to get in bed at the same time as Enjolras, who then turns off the light on his bedside table, leaving only the lightning outside the window as a source of light; it is actually sort of comforting, the darkness. The shift around a little, trying to get comfortable, and Grantaire makes an effort to not get accidentally too close. They get on their sides, facing away from each other. 

The only noises in the room come from the raging storm outside and their own breathing, making it weirdly peaceful. Still, Grantaire cannot relax, hyper aware of Enjolras laying behind him, his body irradiating warmth even without touching, his breathing not even enough yet for him to be asleep, so close and so, so far away. 

Some time passes in this fashion, maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, Grantaire couldn’t say. His shoulder is slightly cramped from his position, but he doesn’t dare move a muscle, forcing himself to breathe deeply, sleep clouding his brain but not quite taking over, the bastard. He's so concentrated in his own state of restlessness that he doesn’t notice Enjolras is still awake. 

“R?” 

It's barely a whisper, almost drowned out by the thunder, low enough that it wouldn’t have disturbed him if he were asleep. He’s not, though, so he replies with his own murmur, “Yeah?” 

There’s movement beside him, the mattress dipping slightly at the shifting, but Enjolras doesn’t answer immediately. Curious and a bit worried, Grantaire turns around, resting on his other side. 

Enjolras is looking at the ceiling, and though he can’t see, he’d swear his eyes are narrowed just so in the way they always are whenever something is troubling him. Grantaire lets him be, knowing pushing would do nothing. Instead, he studies his profile, barely noticeable in the darkness, storing it into his memory for later reference. 

Finally, Enjolras comes back from his daze, though he doesn’t speak. He turns, mirroring Grantaire’s own position, and their faces are as close as when they sitting on the couch early. Grantaire feels himself swallow, unable to take his eyes away from Enjolras’. 

“Grantaire,” he says, sounding rather breathless. 

“Yeah?” 

There are bells ringing in Grantaire’s brain, but he’s too tired and too dumbstruck –by what, he couldn’t tell- to interpret their meaning, more so when Enjolras leans ever so slightly forward. 

“R, I-” He’s interrupted by some thunder, which makes him cringe and, oddly enough, inch closer to Grantaire, rather than away. He can almost feel Enjolras’ breath on his face now, and their hands are dangerously close. 

“Are you ok, Apollo?” 

Enjolras opens his eyes again, and he hesitates before nodding once, the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. 

They don’t say anything more. Grantaire can feel something changing, but he doesn’t know what it is. He’s more relaxed now, though, the stiffness he previously felt melting away. Neither he nor Enjolras turn around, and before he knows it, he’s fallen asleep. 

* * *

When Grantaire wakes up, he feels oddly warm. He keeps his eyes shut as consciousness comes back to him, slowly regaining his senses. He feels content, and it takes a second to realise he’s not alone, nor at his apartment, in his bed, but in Enjolras’. That's enough to make him open his eyes, and then he panics as he sees Enjolras himself in front of him; as in, back-to-chest in front of him. One of his arms is folded awkwardly between them, but the other is thrown over Enjolras’ middle, hand clasped with Enjolras’. 

An eternity passes, Grantaire stiff as stone, afraid that the smallest movement may wake Enjolras up, his brain stopped. This is not a situation he’d have ever prepared for, what is he supposed to do?! They must have moved during the night, seeking the body next to them on instinct, which is nice and well as long as they’re asleep, but now Grantaire is wide awake, and he is freaking out. 

He tries to slow the quick beating of his heart, unsure if Enjolras can feel it, because dear god, Enjolras is cuddling against him. He's not quite snoring, but now and again his breath will come out a bit louder. Grantaire can feel his hair, soft but tangled from sleep, under his chin, and the firm line of his body against his own. 

The storm must have died at some point during the night, because all he can hear now is the soft tapping of mild rain. There's a stillness to the air, a certain peace similar to that he felt the night before. Such rainy days are a favourite of his –and he knows Enjolras enjoys them as well-, with their inherent melancholy and quiet. They can even be romantic, his traitorous mind supplies, and if he closes his eyes and breathes deeply, he can imagine this is a daily occurrence, waking up tangled with Enjolras, and not only the product of a night stormed in together. It's the sweetest torture. 

He sighs, and a second later feels Enjolras start to move slightly; it takes him a second to realise he’s snuggling closer to him, almost nuzzling his head against Grantaire’s neck. He stays still after that, meaning he was just sleeping, his reflexes taking over, nothing else- 

“’Aire.” 

Enjolras’ voice is soft, not even a whisper, but Grantaire hears it anyway. _What_? And then Enjolras is turning around, his arms sleepily finding their way around Grantaire’s waist. Nothing happens for a moment, Grantaire impossibly still while Enjolras hugs him, and then he’s opening his eyes slowly, a pleased smile on his lips. 

He looks at Grantaire from under his eyelashes, blue eyes drowsy with sleep. Grantaire can only stare, mouth open slightly, getting more confused by the second. Finally, Enjolras seems to come back to the land of the conscious, and his previously content expression turns to horror. He doesn’t pull back, though, probably too stunned, and neither does Grantaire. 

After some excruciating seconds, he asks, voice higher than normal, “What?” 

Grantaire swallows, before managing to say, “The storm, we couldn’t leave last night.” 

More silence and staring. 

“I am terribly sorry, I-” Enjolras licks his lips. 

Grantaire unconsciously follows the movement with his eyes, then looks back up to find an odd expression on Enjolras. “What?” He croaks out. 

“What?” 

They are talking, if the exchange can even be considered talking, in low tones, the moment too fragile to risk a higher volume. It is Grantaire who licks his lips now, and he’s shocked to see Enjolras’ gaze on them. It's just a reflex, though, right? But then Enjolras meets his eyes again, and there’s something so intense in them, similar yet so different to their usual intensity; this one’s much more intimate. But it cannot be, can it? 

“Apollo,” he begins, mouth going dry. 

Enjolras lifts his chin ever so slightly then, a motion he’s seen in him countless times before, his battle stance. There's no compelling argument that follows it this time, though, no righteous fury blazing in his eyes, but a soft determination Grantaire can’t recall ever seeing before. 

“Please, stop me if you wish to,” he murmurs, slowly leaning forward. 

It takes all of two seconds for Grantaire to understand what Enjolras means to do, and then he’s leaning in, too, their lips meeting halfway. The kiss is chaste, barely a touch, their noses bumping slowly against each other at first; it is also unbelievable sweet, soft in a way he’s never thought Enjolras, furious, passionate as he is, capable of. A moment later, they pull away. 

“I- what?” Grantaire says the word yet again, his mind unable to comprehend what just happened. 

But then Enjolras is rolling his eyes, and the familiar gesture brings him back, suddenly wide awake. “Really, R, I just kissed you,” he says, smiling, “What do you think?” 

Through his smile and faux exasperation, though, Grantaire can see the uncertainty, the fear, and most importantly, the hope. A laugh of pure joy bubbles up from inside him, and he’s kissing Enjolras again. 

“Does this mean you like me too, then?” Enjolras asks when they pull apart a second later. 

“Apollo, I love you.” 

A heartbeat goes by before he realises what he just said, his eyes widening. Enjolras kissed him, and he likes him, yes, but he doesn’t love him, love is too strong an emotion, he’s surely ruined everything now, _fuck_. Yet, when he looks at him, warily, Enjolras is grinning like a mad man, disbelief written over his face. 

“You love me?” Confused, Grantaire can only nod. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?” 

He hesitates before answering. “You hated me, why _would_ I have said anything?” 

Before he knows it, Enjolras has shifted them, pushing him against the headboard of the bed, straddling his hips and holding his face in his hands almost reverently. “Christ, Grantaire, I love you, too, you idiot.” 

“Then why didn’t you say anything!” 

“I thought _you_ hated me!” Then, realisation dawns on his face, and his voice comes out softer, “Wait, you’ve loved me for so long?” 

In for a penny, in for a pound. “Yeah.” 

There’s no pity or rejection on Enjolras’ face, just confusion. “Why? How?” He shakes his head,” I was horrible to you.” 

Grantaire shrugs. “I wasn’t any better, we’ve both been cruel.” He pauses, lowering his gaze, hesitant to admit what comes next, “I’d purposefully antagonise you just to get a reaction, I craved your attention, you know?” He laughs humourlessly at that, not precisely proud. 

But when he looks up again Enjolras has averted his eyes as well, cheeks tinted pink. “I did, too.” A pause, and he meets his eyes again,” Maybe not at first, I did resent you for your lack of faith back then, but I felt drawn to you, and would look for ways to speak to you, even if they mostly ended in fights.” He laughs too, “It took me a while to understand what I was feeling.” 

Grantaire feels the smile tugging at his lips, and he knows he’s staring adoringly at Enjolras, but he doesn’t hold back now that he knows that somehow Enjolras loves him back. Oh lord, _Enjolras loves him back_. It’s taken his brain a moment to process this new information, but once it finally does, warmth bursts in his chest. 

He turns them around quickly, so that Enjolras is beneath him, a look of surprise taking over his face, that turns into one pleased and a little smug. He raises an eyebrow in challenge, because he may know his feelings are requited now, but their rivalry won’t end any time soon. In return, Enjolras lifts his chin and narrows his eyes. Without missing a beat, Grantaire leans down and kisses him with all he’s got, receiving as much in return. 

Only a while later, cuddling again –without internal freak outs this time-, they remember it is Valentine’s Day. 

“I guess it is not that bad of holiday,” Enjolras concedes. After a second, he adds, “We are not celebrating our anniversary on fucking Valentine’s Day, though.” 

Grantaire can only laugh. 

**Author's Note:**

> bonus: they go to courf and ferre's later that day and everyone makes fun of them for getting together on valentine's day (they're happy tho, especially bc they'll finally stop with the pining)  
> btw, yes, i do know "aire" and "r" are pronounced the same in french, but i thought the spelling "aire" was more fitting for that moment


End file.
